


Strings May Bind

by AraniWrites



Series: The Ineffable Life [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Autistic Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale loves Crowley, Background deaths, Crowley loves Aziraphale, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, First Kiss, Gabriel is an asshole, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Other, Requited Love, a fic about learning aziraphale's boundaries and how they become a couple, also christmas shenanigans because I can, no proofreading we die like writers, this is basically self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 06:30:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20238298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AraniWrites/pseuds/AraniWrites
Summary: Crowley loves Aziraphale. Aziraphale is held back by Heaven, and can only find solace on Earth's surface. Neither of them will risk destroying the friendship they've created.A story about love and boundaries and pulling away from the dreaded puppet-master.





	Strings May Bind

**Author's Note:**

> This is completely self-indulgent, mostly fluff but also hurt/comfort. I identified a lot with Aziraphale and him having Autism makes perfect sense to me, so here's a whole fic on Crowley and Aziraphale creating and breaking and remaking boundaries in their relationship.
> 
> This is also my first Good Omens fic, the show has taken my entire soul and I had to get this out of my system before I did any other writing. Hope they're at least partially in-character.

Crowley learned, very early on, to never touch Aziraphale.

Well, perhaps that wasn’t entirely accurate. Touch with their clothes in between seemed to be okay enough, on a good day. But he was never to touch Aziraphale skin to skin, never to grab him unexpectedly, and never to give him a hug.

It was different for demons. For all their mistrust and vile, physical intimacy was a given. It was a constant, it was necessary, it was craved. Their cramped hallways and living conditions were only vaguely annoying, and though Crowley never required physical intimacy, he was used to it and appreciated it, and knew it as the only way to relay care and appreciation early on in his demon life.

It was early when Crowley learned that Aziraphale had no such drive. He’d had hints those first years; Aziraphale wouldn’t shake his hand, and flinched whenever Crowley pat his back in greeting. He kept a certain distance between them, and held his own hands together, running his thumbs over the backs of his own hands. Crowley respected his distance-- although a demon, he wasn’t a heathen-- but he didn’t truly understand until a Flood was sent by God herself. And unfortunate it was; sudden, in the moment, completely unintentional, and Crowley had never forgotten the reaction.

They stood together on Noah’s Ark, watching the rain fall, thunder and lightning thrash the sky. The screams of the people had long since died away, leaving only the turbulent waters to hold their attention. Below animals bellowed, and even further down Crowley had hidden some sixty children-- not nearly enough, but their existence alone was nothing Aziraphale needed to know about-- and while they watched the rain he kept a close eye on Noah and his family, ensuring they kept far away from those poor children.

“Tragic…”

Crowley turned to a still-stunned Aziraphale. As the waters had risen the angel had remained perfectly still, his mouth drawn into a thin line, his brows knit together, as if he strained and strained but nothing happened. He simply watched, and Crowley wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it.

“Thought your lot approved of all God’s actions.”

Aziraphale took in a stuttered breath, his hair pressed flat to his head, droplets of rain cascading down his cheeks. If he was crying, the rain hid it well.

“No. No, I can’t approve of this.”

And for the first time Crowley felt the overwhelming need to comfort the angel. Aziraphale, who’s first true act on Earth was to give away his flaming sword. Aziraphale, who couldn’t argue against God, who couldn’t ask questions without genuine concern, who looked as if he was going to shatter at the next breeze.

Crowley reached out his hand in the only comforting gesture he knew. He touched Aziraphale’s shoulder, where the fabric of his clothing unfortunately didn’t cover him from the rain. The reaction was immediate; Aziraphale gasped and jumped away, pulling his hands to his chest, staring at Crowley as if he’d struck him. Crowley stared back, bewildered and shocked and dismayed; had he hurt the angel?

Azirahale’s chest heaved as he calmed himself down, his hands shaking as he ran his thumbs over the backs of his hands. Crowley had noticed him doing that all the time. And his face, oh his face, where Crowley couldn’t tell before if Aziraphale was crying, he definitely was now.

“Oh Aziraphale, I’m so--”

“I’m sorry!” Crowley snapped his mouth shut, wide eyed, as Aziraphale took a few more breaths. “I’m sorry. Oh, you must think me so… cowardly!” Aziraphale hastily wiped at his tears, though the rain was doing the job well enough. But despite the scare, Aziraphale returned to his spot beside Crowley, although noticeably more nervous. “I just… please don’t touch me. I don’t let anyone touch me.”

Crowley processed that for a moment. He remembered almost nothing about his time in Heaven, but he wondered if that was why; did angels just not touch? Were the angels and demons really so different from one another?

“Why not?” He settled on asking, if nothing else than to fill the nervous silence.

“I just don’t like it.” Aziraphale explained, “My skin crawls. Burns sometimes. It’s… it’s sensitive and extremely uncomfortable.”

“I hurt you?” Crowley’s hurt must have shown on his face, because Aziraphale managed to smile for him.

“Oh no, it’s not you. It’s everyone. I--I appreciate what you were trying to do, but touching--”

“Okay. No touching, got it.” Aziraphale stared at him again, but Crowley felt exposed. He turned his attention back to the pouring rain and the deep waters and pretended not to notice Aziraphale’s attempts to further calm himself down.

After a moment, when Noah and his family disappeared below deck, he unfurled his wings and held his over Aziraphale’s head, protecting him from the rain. Aziraphale smiled to himself and released his own, raising it above Crowley, and the two found a companionable silence that comforted them both through the storm until they reached the rainbow.

Crowley didn’t intentionally touch Aziraphale again. It happened sometimes by accident; a brush of hands here, a tug out of the way of danger there. But as the centuries went on, Aziraphale seemed to grow used to Crowley’s touch. After five centuries Aziraphale stopped flinching when their hands brushed together. Six centuries later he felt comfortable enough to actively put his hands on Crowley; a handshake here, a pull there. It wasn’t often, but it was enough. Finally, the two fell into a familiar rhythm; touch was fine enough, as long as Aziraphale initiated it. Crowley would hold out his hand and let Aziraphale decide, and took no offense if his hand wasn’t returned in kind. It was enough, Crowley reasoned. It had to be.

\--

In 79 AD, Aziraphale first reached for Crowley.

The two heard about Vesuvius at about the same time. They didn’t know it, but both rushed to Pompeii to see if they could help, dread in their minds and hearts. That was where Aziraphale found him; standing on a hill far away, watching as Pompeii was buried in ash.

Aziraphale landed beside him. Crowley knew he was there, of course he did, but he wouldn’t look at Aziraphale. They simply watched as the mountain took back its land.

“Did your lot do this?” He asked after a while. Aziraphale took a moment, sensing for life that could be saved; he found none.

“No.” Aziraphale sighed, “Gabriel was convinced it was your doing.”

If Crowley had the energy to be offended, he would have been. But he had no energy as the ash cloud came overhead, falling like snow around them.

“Yeah, cause I go around killing people for no reason. Right.”

Crowley sat down on that hill, unbothered by the falling ash or the stench of sulfur. Aziraphale was getting hot, the ash around them was heavy, but he remained there. He sank down beside Crowley, and they watched the fury of the Earth as the pyroclastic flow faded away. Crowley’s eyes were hidden by his dark glasses, but Aziraphale could see the pain in his features, the stiffness in his shoulders. Making up his mind, Aziraphale took in a deep breath and steeled his nerve.

Crowley’s head whipped around to Aziraphale, shocked when he felt the angel’s arm encircle his shoulders. It was the most contact they’d ever had. More contact than he’d ever expected.

“Uh-- angel?” Aziraphale didn’t answer, “Thought you didn’t…”

“You’re not just anyone.” He replied softly, “It’s okay. You looked like you needed it.”

Crowley couldn’t reply to that. He couldn't do anything except sit there and watch, sit there with Aziraphale and hope beyond reason that the moment would last beyond the pain of the event before them. Ash settled on their shoulders and in their hair but neither minded. They simply utilized the fact that they didn't need to breathe, and watched as Pompeii was consumed completely.

After a while Aziraphale finally seemed to reach his limit. He tensed up, his fingers digging into Crowley's shoulder. But even then he didn't let Crowley go, so Crowley got himself up and brushed the ash out of his hair. Aziraphale stood after him, gaze concerned and compassionate. 

"Thanks angel." Crowley turned his back to the now buried city. "I should-- check in, I should go check in. See you around."

With a snap of his fingers Crowley was gone. Aziraphale stood there and watched for a minute longer before he too snapped his fingers and made for Germany for his next assignment.

The memory of Aziraphale tucked against his side, arm around his shoulder, would stick with Crowley for the rest of time.

\--

As the milenia wore on, Crowley noticed Aziraphale's habits changing with the times. As their world become more populated Aziraphale began wearing more layers; vest above shirt, jacket on top, hats and thick trousers and closed shoes over sandals. He particularly liked the times when wearing gloves was commonplace; Aziraphale was far more willing to initiate touch when a glove was in the way, and Crowley enjoyed those times more than he would ever admit.

Crowds were difficult for the angel, and though the angel would walk through busy streets he would use his angelic aura to keep everyone at a short distance from his body-- the tactic was hit and miss, but it worked well enough. He would maintain it for as long as he could, but as a day would go on the crowds would become too overstimulating. He would fidget more, curl in on himself, smile less and watch the world as if he was in danger from some unseen force. Then he would avoid everyone and everything, retreating to some corner to recharge.

That is, everyone except for Crowley.

Crowley was always the exception; as time went on Aziraphale was used to his demonic presence. He even seemed to enjoy it, he was most relaxed at Crowley's side, he had more energy and appreciated crowds more. Crowley recalled that Aziraphale liked to people-watch, and Crowley's natural disposition kept many people away from the two supernatural beings with more regularity than Aziraphale could manage. Touching was still a day by day ordeal, but Crowley would take whatever he could get.

Crowley had long since made peace with his feelings for the angel, and took those excuses to see his friend when he could manage it. He recognized that Aziraphale would likely never reciprocate his feelings; after all, angels loved everything in equal measure, how could Crowley expect him to play favorites? So he joined the angel as a friend, and the two got together every few decades simply to enjoy one another's company. They had their Arrangement, of course, but they most enjoyed the time they took a day or two off their busy schedules. They would find new and exotic alcoholic drinks across the globe, they would see humanity's newest megalithic creations, they would sail the seas and try foods most would never even know existed decades down the line. Aziraphale particularly loved attending the theater, where he could people-watch with true purpose. He loved humanity's creativity, their passion, their dramatics. Crowley often sent him tickets, even when he wouldn't be able to join the angel in person.

Once, over drinks in a pub in India, Crowley asked him why he loved watching humanity like he did.

"They're lovely." Aziraphale confessed, "Humans are so… so animated. Their emotions are palpable. Even when they hate, they're allowed to. They're allowed to feel, and to feel unashamed in how they think and act. It's wonderful."

And a piece of the puzzle fell into place for Crowley; Aziraphale was comfortable here, on Earth, with humans. He wondered if he felt comfortable anywhere else. He had a guess as what that answer might be.

\--

It had been over fifty years since Aziraphale had opened his bookshop in Soho, London. Crowley didn't visit often, but he was glad to finally have a location to meet Aziraphale where the angel would almost always be present. No more searching for years, Aziraphale mostly worked around England these days, and he was eternally grateful for it. Though the location did surprise him, Aziraphale's logic was sound; he could watch the world go by outside his windows, watch the people and the stores and the streets, all from the safety and comfort of his bookshop. He'd been happier than Crowley had ever seen him, which said quite a lot considering the angel was always optimistic and happy.

Crowley found it all rather amazing. Aziraphale was devoted to his books, most first additions and signed by their authors. He would spend hours, days on end repairing old books for people who needed the help, and restored old manuscripts to preserve for the future. He'd translate important literature for countries around the world, and lived for any written word. Crowley loved his focus, his drive, his passion for his books. He'd never say that, though. He'd simply watch.

And if watching meant having a rather dreamy smile on his face while the angel wasn't looking, well, no one needed to know that. 

The bookshop was made of joy, so much so that even Crowley could feel traces of it. But this time, an air of dread surrounded the bookshop the moment Crowley stepped onto the curb. The shop was closed, but that had never deterred Crowley before. The feeling made him pause; Aziraphale was inside with another supernatural being, and Aziraphale's aura was wrong. Panic, fear, upset, dread, overload. Crowley knew that sense by heart, knew whenever Aziraphale was reaching his "people limit", and at the moment his limit had been far surpassed.

Crowley snapped his fingers and ended up inside Aziraphale's bookshop, hidden in the shadows between the many filled bookshelves. Aziraphale was speaking with a tall, powerfully built man in the middle of the shop. The man wore a smart suit, kept up with the times, and radiated Heavenly light. Aziraphale, on the other hand, felt suppressed. His face was steely, but his energies betrayed his panic all the same.

"Gabriel…"

"Honestly, Aziraphale." The man, Gabriel-- the _Archangel_ Gabriel, Crowley realized-- interrupted Aziraphale with a dismissive wave, making the angel close in on himself. "Is it really so difficult? We asked you to stop performing these frivolous miracles. Is that so hard to comply with?"

Aziraphale took a breath and, despite everything, looked Gabriel in the eye, "I don't happen to think that healing a child is some frivolous miracle. That's our purpose, is it not?"

"It's _not_." Gabriel balled his hand into a fist, "This world will be ending. Your _only_ purpose is to ensure this world spins until Armageddon comes about. You shouldn't waste miracles on humans. They're mortal."

"It is my duty to care for them."

"It's your duty to follow orders. But you've never been good at that, have you?" Then, to Crowley's horror, Gabriel pushed Aziraphale back into his desk. He shoved the angels stomach in particular, and when the Angel hit the wood Gabriel grabbed his wrist and held him there, toe to toe, completely in his personal space. Aziraphale's face finally betrayed his true emotions, pain and fear and… guilt.

Guilt.

Oh, he was screwed.

"P-Please don't touch me, Gabriel."

"I'm an Archangel." Gabriel pushed him again, though there wasn't anywhere else for them to go. "I can do _whatever the hell I want_."

Aziraphale was on the verge of a meltdown, Crowley could see it in his eyes. But he held his ground and stared Gabriel down, even through his fear.

"For example," the Archangel continued with a sneer, "how many times have I told you to lose the fat? You defile your temple constantly, it's disgusting. Not to mention unbecoming of an Angel. A Principality, no less!" Aziraphale winced when Gabriel's grip tightened. But even through the discomfort, Crowley was shocked as Aziraphale managed to regain a little bit of his composure. He looked Gabriel in the eye, his trapped hand forming a fist. "Shape up, Aziraphale. You disgrace all of us."

“Yes. You’ve told me as much. Several times, now.”

"Then I should think you ought to listen. Stop those frivolous miracles."

"I will do what I can, but I make you no promises."

Gabriel didn't release the angel. He pushed in closer to Aziraphale, giving him no room to breathe, and that was all Crowley could take. He trembled with rage, until finally he started to step forward, intending to intervene.

Aziraphale saw him instantly, his eyes widening. Crowley was about to speak, but Aziraphale was faster. The angel blinked, and Crowley found himself in the flat above the bookshop, dazed and held in place by an unseen weight. For a brief moment his mind took in enough information to remember just how much power Aziraphale hid behind a kind smile.

A few minutes ticked by before the weight diminished, and Crowley shook out of his daze. He jumped up and started to head for the stairs, but Aziraphale was already walking through the doorway, wiping tears out of his eyes, hoping Crowley wouldn’t notice them.

"Crowley." He greeted with little energy to spare, "What can I do for you, my dear?"

"Where issss that prick?" Crowley hissed, seething, "I'm going to ssshove hiss head ssso far up hiss own--"

Crowley deflated the moment he got a good look at Aziraphale's face, watching as he flinched away, trying not to fall apart completely.

"He's gone." Aziraphale muttered, "How much did you overhear?"

"Enough." Aziraphale sighed and pushed his head into his hands. Crowley, damn him, softened at the sight. "Do they always treat you like that?"

"Crowley--"

"Please tell me."

Aziraphale looked the demon in the eye, "Yes." and Crowley was taken aback by the honesty, the rawness in the angel's eyes, the tremble of his lower lip.

"Well… shit."

"Quite."

The two stood there for a few moments. Aziraphale stared at his own trembling hands. Crowley studied the emotions flashing across his face. The upset, the shame, the guilt. Oh, the guilt was worst of all. Did he… did he think…

"Aziraphale," Crowley got his attention, "it's not your fault that arsehole won't respect your space."

Aziraphale had some complex look in his eyes, "I could follow orders." He says, "I could eat less, and perform less miracles, and--"

"And you wouldn't be Aziraphale." Crowley reminded him with confidence, "You're Earth's Principality. You're meant to protect them, regardless of what Gabriel thinks." Aziraphale's eyes widened, "And trust me, angel, you don't need to lose any weight. Do you really want to look like those ridiculous marble statues, all hard and angry and steely? You're too kind for that. Humans react well to kindness and softness, don't they?”

“Yes, well…” Aziraphale shrugged with little energy to back it up, “I used to look something like that. Once, a long time ago, when I still fought those blasted wars. Never liked it. Never…”

“It never felt right.” Crowley finished, understanding this feeling better than most, “Never felt like who you were inside.”

“Exactly. I like this form.”

“As you should! It suits you, it makes you feel comfortable. Besides, the crepes are worth it. Especially when you get them in Paris."

Aziraphale smiled at that, "I would miss the crepes."

"Damn right you would. Don't listen to whatever they're saying, you're--" _Perfect. Beautiful. Amazing._ "--You're you. That matters."

Aziraphale was at a loss for words, and Crowley waited. This wasn't an arena he knew much of. He was so far out of his depth he didn't know where to turn.

He understood more than he ever had before. He understood why Aziraphale was comfortable on Earth, he understood why he flinched at every unwanted touch, why he shied from the crowds and remained so sensitive. Earth was his safe haven, his only escape from those who refused to respect him, and damn if Crowley was going to see him lose it.

Aziraphale finally took a breath, and actually smiled at Crowley. "Would you like some tea?"

Crowley snapped his fingers, and a glass of red wine appeared in both their hands. What the wine was he couldn't say, he just knew they both needed it.

"Ah. Thank you."

"Sorry. Should have jumped in sooner."

"Oh, none of that, you old serpent. Gabriel isn't worth it. It's nice to have some respectful company."

"Respectful? Me? I'm a demon, I'm not respectful."

Aziraphale smiled again, his shoulders beginning to relax. "No, of course not."

"If downstairs caught wind I'd never hear the end of it."

"That would be an unfortunate outcome, yes."

Crowley took Aziraphale's sarcasm as a good sign, and gestured to the rest of the living room. "Now sit down, angel. I've got one bitch of a story to tell you."

And so they sat together, drank themselves stupid, and forgot about heaven and hell for the night.

\--

"You go too fast for me, Crowley."

The words stung as Aziraphale left his Bentley, disappearing into the night. Crowley had a faint glimmer of hope, thought they could be more, thought perhaps they could have a future together. But maybe that wasn't what the angel wanted. Maybe it never would be.

But Crowley looked to the flask of Holy Water and thought better of it. He couldn't quite tell how Aziraphale felt, but he knew that the angel would be held back. The ropes that bound him to Heaven were thick and absolute. He had no room to challenge them; he had no room to be Aziraphale.

Crowley let out a deep breath. On the one hand, it had hurt. On the other, he understood.

And he hated that he had to understand.

\--

Armageddon didn't end in fire and destruction. It ended with a child making a choice that would ensure the Earth's survival. An end none of them could have seen coming.

The only fire that consumed anything was the fire that took Aziraphale's bookshop, and the devastation on the angel's face was enough to drive Crowley to tears, if he'd let them fall. Which he wouldn't, even when they did.

The two sat in Crowley's living room that night after the end of the world. They didn't drink, or really talk much. They simply sat there and held each other's hands, quietly pondering their fate, Agnus's prophecy, and how to spend the rest of the eternity they now faced. In the end it was Aziraphale who came up with their plan, because of course it was, and they switched their faces to stand up to those who'd held their leashes for so many years.

Crowley put up with the sneers and insults of the Archangels, as Aziraphale would. Aziraphale had explicitly asked him not to harm them, and he would comply. That didn't mean he couldn't scare the shit out of them, which he took great pleasure in accomplishing.

And when they reunited, suddenly it didn't seem to matter anymore. Aziraphale didn't have to go back. Crowley would ensure that.

The two had a lovely dinner at the Ritz before Crowley walked Aziraphale back to his bookshop, and the two looked at the world as they never had before. There was more light, more freedom, more love. They enjoyed the little pleasures more, sampler platters from cafes on the streets, window shopping as Crowley added bits and pieces to his wardrobe as they went. It was perfect. It was theirs.

Crowley grinned as Aziraphale fawned over his restored bookshop, and gratefully accepted the wine offered to him. For the first time they didn't drink to get drunk, they drank to extend their time together, and Crowley couldn't recall a time he'd been happier.

“So, any ideas on what you’ll do with this new eternity?” Aziraphale asked him, walking between his bookshelves with his wine glass in hand, ensuring each and every book was in its place.

“Haven’t thought about it.” Crowley sprawled out on Aziraphale’s couch, sipping his drink absently. He kicked one leg up onto the cushions while the other rested lightly on the floor. He kicked his foot every now and then, feeling safer and more relaxed than he ever had before.

“Could do some traveling. Not for work, for pleasure.” Aziraphale hummed, pulling out a Dickens novel and placing it on a different shelf. “Been a long time since either of us have gone abroad.”

“Alright then, we’ll travel. Anywhere you want, angel.”

Aziraphale looked to Crowley. The demon’s head rested back against the armrest of the couch. His glasses laid on the coffee table beside his now empty glass, and he had a contented smile on his face.

Aziraphale had long since felt a pull towards Crowley, a feeling of adoration he’d never permitted himself to explore. He knew when it started, when Crowley had made Hamlet a success just because he asked, but Aziraphale knew better than to dwell on the subject. 

He knew how Crowley felt about him. Aziraphale could sense love, and he’d sensed romantic love from Crowley for centuries upon centuries. It wasn’t hard for him to put the pieces together, and though he’d tried very hard to never break his best friend’s heart, when it came down to it he’d never been ready to take another step at Crowley’s side. Crowley went too fast, and Aziraphale wouldn’t disrespect him by telling him anything less than the truth. After all, love could be many things. The love for a friend could be enough.

But it was never enough, and it took Crowley asking for the Holy Water for Aziraphale to realize it. He wanted more than friendship, he wanted everything. He wanted to hold Crowley’s hand, kiss him in the mornings and afternoons and evenings, share every meal with him, go on walks and enjoy a life together. And he knew that those were things he could never have. Hell would have killed Crowley on the spot, and Heaven… he didn’t want to think about what Heaven would do. So he kept quiet, maintained distance, and resolved to simply remain Crowley’s friend, no matter how much it hurt.

But now? Now there were no barriers. Heaven and Hell would leave them alone, and as Crowley had said, they were on their own side. What did that make him? What did that mean for the two of them? Aziraphale had never known a world without strict oversight. He wasn’t sure how to even comprehend it.

“Angel?” Aziraphale was snapped out of his thoughts by Crowley, who’d sat himself up and looked at him with curiosity and a hint of concern, “You’re staring. I know I’m a rather dashing suspect, but staring’s new for you.”

“Oh! Don’t mind me. Lost in my own head, as usual.”

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Crowley was standing now, striding over to the bookshelves. He leaned against a shelf of Hemingway’s, and though he was close to Aziraphale he gave the angel a large path to exit should he feel the need for space. Aziraphale noticed all those considerations Crowley made, and appreciated each and every one. He hoped his smiles of gratitude conveyed that.

“Well, it’s all rather new, isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question, because it couldn’t be a question. “I confess, I don’t quite know what to do with myself.”

“How do you mean?”

All of Crowley’s attention was focused on Aziraphale, his yellow eyes somehow soft and endearing. Aziraphale loved his eyes. He wished he got to see them more often.

“I’ve… never known a world without Heaven.” Aziraphale admitted, moving his gaze to a stack of books nearby. He set down his wine glass on a nearby shelf, wringing his hands absently. “It was always their rules, their standards. _‘Do this Aziraphale, but not that. Don’t go there, we demand you here. Be this, because you can’t be anything else.’_ Now it’s different. I’m just… a puppet without its strings.”

Crowley scoffed, “A puppet? No puppet ups and gives away their glowy flaming sword to two humans, and a puppet certainly wouldn’t stare down Satan himself to prevent the end of the world.”

“No, perhaps not. But the analogy stands; I have no direction anymore. I don’t know how to feel about that. I still…” Aziraphale bit his lips, “I still care for them a great deal, you see. Despite everything. I don’t think that care will ever disappear.”

Crowley ducked down to capture Aziraphale’s gaze, lifting his head with his snake eyes. “That’s what makes you Aziraphale the Principality. It also means we get to choose our own direction now. We can do anything we want, don’t you see? We could… _be_ anything. Together.”

Aziraphale held Crowley’s gaze. “We?”

“Yeah. If-- if you wanted that.”

“...I do.” Aziraphale tried to smile, but failed miserably. This was far too serious. He had to say it. He couldn’t wait another second. “Crowley, I… I hope you know how deeply I care for you. I love you dearly, more than I can express. Nothing would make me happier than spending every day of the rest of our eternity with you.” Crowley’s face dropped into stunned silence. His cheeks turned a shocking shade of red, and his heart rate went from zero to sixty in half a second. 

“Ngk-- uh-- ehm-- You… do?”

“Yes.”

“But--” Crowley’s brain scrambled for some kind of answer to make the words manageable, “But you’re an angel. Aren’t you supposed to, like, love everything equally?”

“Equally?” Aziraphale raised his brow, “We love everything, but love is-- it’s subjective. There’s different types, and no kind of love is better or worse than anything else. I can feel romantic love. I have for quite a long time now.”

Crowley blinked, an actual effort, buying himself time. It made perfect sense; Aziraphale could make anything make perfect sense. “Oh.” He shuffled, “Well that’s-- good. Isn’t it?”

“I think it is, but… but I also need you to know that when I said you went to fast for me, I meant it. It was too fast. This is still too fast. I don’t know who I am without Heaven, and until I figure that out I-- I can’t be what you want me to be. That’s not fair to you, to either of us.” Aziraphale bit at his lip and finally turned away from Crowley, ever so slightly. “I know you’ve waited a long time for me. I won’t expect you to keep waiting but-- but if you could wait for this old fool just a little longer, I--”

“I’ll wait.” Crowley blurted out, his cheeks still rosy, his posture now rigid. He stood himself up from his slouch, shoving his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching for the angel. “For somebody’s sake Aziraphale, I waited six thousand years for you. I can wait however long you need me to.”

“Six thousand years? Oh, darling--”

“Shut up.” Crowley grumbled, “Don’t finish that thought.”

Aziraphale smiled instead. He reached forward then, delicately pulling Crowley’s hand from his pocket, holding it firmly. Crowley stared down at it. They’d held hands before, but this was different. It was irreversibly different. “Well, I won't make you wait a second longer than is strictly necessary, my dear. I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to begin with.”

“S’fine. I’m a rebel, always have been.” He squeezed Aziraphale’s hand and finally looked the angel in the eye. Aziraphale was met with the most blinding smile he’d ever faced, one of pure and unadulterated love and adoration. And he returned it, hopefully ten fold, with a squeeze of his own. “Figure it out, angel. I’m not going anywhere.”

And, true to his word, Crowley remained that night, and many nights afterward.

\--

They fell into a nice rhythm rather quickly after that. Aziraphale started small; he wore different colors of clothing, and though his style never changed the colors were an expression in their own right. Crowley encouraged each one, approved of each as he claimed they complimented the angels eyes or his hair or his posture. Soon Aziraphale was performing miracles whenever he pleased, helping whoever he deemed needed the extra bit of magic in their lives, blessing everyone else with near reckless abandon. The world seemed to get brighter around Crowley, who watched and smiled and refused to create any demonic problems for the angel’s newfound freedom. He even helped out now and then, loathe as he was to admit it.

After a few months, they started going on proper dates. Dinner dates happened every other night, while in between they’d take walks and visit the theater and whatever else their hearts desired. Aziraphale’s interests remained unchanged, but he felt more confident in expressing them openly, and Crowley couldn’t have been prouder. 

After two weeks, they took a day trip to Paris, and Aziraphale held Crowley’s hand throughout the entire day for the very first time.

Three months later, Aziraphale let Crowley kiss his cheek. After another four they were regularly cuddling on Aziraphale’s couch in his bookshop, reading together or watching some program on the telly, or simply talking for however long Aziraphale could stand the contact. The angel still needed his space, but Crowley was never upset to give it to him. 

They visited Tadfield once a month, gathering in Jasmine cottage with Anathema, Newt, Adam and his rambunctious friends. The first few visits their new human friends asked them all kinds of questions about Heaven and Hell and their roles on Earth. Finally they seemed sated, and the visits became purely social. Aziraphale and Crowley adored those kids, and Aziraphale found great enjoyment in debating with Anathema and Newt while Crowley played with the children in the backyard. And whenever Aziraphale finally had enough of the company and the noise, Crowley would drive them home and bring in takeout food for the night.

They moved in together after nine months. Aziraphale miracled a second bedroom for Crowley above his bookshop, and Crowley used it. He’d promised to wait, after all, and sleeping together was a rather big step. Even if the angel was never comfortable with it, Crowley couldn’t bring himself to even remotely care. Their time together was more than he’d ever dreamed of, and he’d take anything Aziraphale gave him.

They discovered new things about each other, even after six thousand years of friendship. Aziraphale learned that Crowley could play the piano, and he promptly bought one for the flat for Crowley to use whenever he pleased. And if the demon cried over the gift, no one needed to know. Not long after that Crowley learned that Aziraphale had, quite literally, the voice of an angel, and he would sing along to Crowley’s tunes during quiet evenings. They memorized each others very personal habits, the smallest likes and dislikes. Every day was a learning curve that they embraced with ease. 

One year rolled by, as did a Christmas eve spent with Anathema and Newt in Aziraphale’s bookshop. The two bought presents to Adam and his friends, and they all enjoyed New Year’s Eve together in Tadfield. Aziraphale and Crowley dated steadily over the next year, happy in each others arms as the time flew by. Spring gave way to summer, then to fall, and soon enough it was Christmas time again.

Crowley thought they’d spend the Eve with their new human friends again, but Aziraphale had other plans. He insisted on an evening outing, and though Crowley didn’t care for the bitter chill outside Aziraphale promised their trip would be swift, so they bundled up and left the bookshop, enjoying a nice walk framed by lights on every tree and pole they passed.

Aziraphale brought Crowley to Trafalgar Square, where the annual Christmas Tree sat proudly above a bustling population. Children were drawing with chalk nearby, couples sat on the twin fountain rim, and a group of carolers were entertaining the masses in a wonderful harmony. 

“What’s the deal?” Crowley asked as Aziraphale chose a corner for themselves, out of the way of the bustling crowds, situated under a small archway and partially hidden by shadows. Aziraphale was positively giddy, watching them all with pure adoration. 

“I used to come here once a decade for this.” Aziraphale explained, “That was all I could get away with before. But now, I can do this every year!”

“Do what?”

“Watch.”

Aziraphale scanned the crowds, cracked his knuckles, and got to work. Crowley watched as all around them, miracles began cropping up _everywhere_. Parents with little funds found money on the ground beside them, enough to make it through the rest of the month after so much spent on their children for the holidays. Many lonely humans found themselves suddenly receiving calls from friends and family and loved ones. Couples found themselves suddenly under vibrant mistletoe, and children were gifted with unending chalk and an ice cream cart who’s owner decided it was a wonderful idea to give away free ice cream cones to any child who wanted one. People began helping one another left and right, buying coffee for the one in line behind them, a woman dressed as an elf passed out free balloon animals, and a group of sixty or so joined the carolers in their song, filling the square with an echo of their voices.

The happiness and vibrancy in the air was palpable, and Crowley watched with wide eyes. Even he could sense the love and joy. Beside him Aziraphale bounced absently on his toes, taking great pride in his handiwork. 

“‘Frivolous miracles’ my ass.” Crowley remarked as he watched a young woman burst into tears as she received a call from her mother.

“I completely agree.” Aziraphale was contented after a while, though still performed the odd miracle for those who needed it most. He’d discovered over time that once he got the ball rolling, the humans didn’t need convincing to act kindly toward one another. “I can do this every year.” He repeated with awe in his voice. He well and truly could. Now, no one could stop him.

“I’d like to be here every year.” Crowley mentioned, smiling at his partner. Though unfortunately his voice shook with a shiver; it was getting colder as the sun was disappearing beyond the horizon.

“Oh my dear, I’m sorry.” Aziraphale shrugged off his coat and, despite protests, pulled it on to Crowley’s body. He straightened Crowley’s scarf, nothing but affection gleaming in his eyes. “I would like to be here with you every year, if you’ll have me.”

“Oh angel, of _course_ I’ll have you.”

Aziraphale beamed as he took both of Crowley’s hands in his own, warming them up for the demon. Then Crowley noticed the mischievous glint in the angels eyes, and looked up when he felt Aziraphale’s magic circle above them.

There, hanging in the arch over their heads, was a rather large mistletoe.

“Really, angel?” Crowley teased, “Little cliche’, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps.” Aziraphale blushed, “But I also happen to think it’s rather romantic.”

Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s hands before bringing one to the angel’s cheek. Aziraphale leaned into the touch comfortably, happily. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.” He replied, his breath coming out in little puffs of white. “If you are, as well.”

Crowley didn’t even need to think about it. He didn’t need to think about anything as they both leaned in and met in the middle. He only needed to think about how warm Aziraphale was, and how soft his lips were. He only needed to think about Aziraphale’s hands, one still gripping his, the other splaying across Crowley’s chest, resting over his heartbeat.

In the end there were no sparks, no fireworks, no sweeping declarations or lustful passion. Their first kiss was sweet and modest, ever so fleeting, and yet somehow more perfect than anything either had ever pictured. Because they didn’t need fireworks or flashing displays; they only needed each other and the time they’d finally been gifted, devoted and unwavering.

And not long after New Years, Crowley didn’t use the second bedroom ever again.

**Author's Note:**

> I've also posted this story to my tumblr, [Here!](https://stories-of-arani.tumblr.com/post/186993520824/strings-may-bind-araniwrites-good-omens-neil) Reblogs are super appreciated, and it's a good place to contact me if people want to see more fics like this. <3 Thanks all!


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